


Last One In

by thesaddestboner



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Detroit Red Wings, Friendship, Gen, Not Beta Read, Snow and Ice, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-03
Updated: 2008-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-22 04:37:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hank, Pavel, and a home-made hockey rink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last One In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [offside](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=offside).



> Written for a winter fic request a few years ago. [**offside**](http://offside.livejournal.com/)'s four words were hattrick, summer, lockout and rain. I only got to summer and rain. Dumb and unbeta’d. And it's not really slash. \o/ Sorry [**offside**](http://offside.livejournal.com/)! :D
> 
> Editing this approximately a million years later because that's how I roll.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

The sharp winter chill cuts into Hank’s skin like tiny knives, and his mind may just be playing tricks on him, but later on, he'll swear to anyone who’ll listen that he can’t remember it ever being this cold back home in Sweden. He’s a hockey player, though, first and foremost. A hockey player complaining about the cold is no different than putting on a frilly pink tutu and doing pirouettes and jetées at center ice. It's just not done.

Hank doesn’t complain. He never complains. Despite the stinging winds that blister his cheeks, cause his eyes to water, turns his fingers into and toes into chunks of ice, he wouldn’t dream of complaining.

Pavel skates out to center ice, head down, and cradles the puck on the end of his stick. The blade of Pavel’s stick attracts the puck like they were made for each other. It seems so perfect, really. That this is the way it should be, all the time.

Pavel circles the puck, like a hunter stalking its prey, before scooping it up and skating for the goal, which is nothing more than some posts Hank had driven into the ice and topped off with bright orange flags. They make do with what they have.

Pavel's strides are short and compact, the ice crunching perfectly under the silvery blur of his skate blades. Hank follows him, a flash of red and white under the pale moonlight.

Hank can hear phantom cheers as Pavel races down the sheet of ice, dangling the puck on the end of his stick. He can almost make out the ghostly imprint of a goalie in the crease, coming out of the net to meet Pavel.

Pavel pulls the puck onto his backhand and shovels it toward the goalmouth. Hank holds his breath as the puck skids toward the crease they’d marked out by gouging their skate blades in the thick ice.

The puck clinks harmlessly off the far post and ends up in a snowbank. Pavel hunches over, resting his stick across his knees. and his breath comes in short bursts, crystallizing the moment it meets the crisp December air. Hank skates over and digs the puck out of the snow.

“Nice move. I could almost see it like it was happening,” Hank says, pushing the puck to Pavel.

“Didn’t score.” Pavel straightens up and chops at the puck with his blade spitefully.

“Have you ever felt this cold before?” Hank tries to steal the puck off Pavel’s stick, but he’s too quick for him, pulling the puck back before Hank can swipe it.

“Back home in Russia, it is colder,” Pavel says, flipping the puck into the air with the blade of his stick. “This is nothing. This is like Russian summer.” The puck lands harmlessly between them.

“I think my fingers have turned into icicles.” Hank tucks his stick under his arm and rubs his mittened hands together.

“You have mittens,” Pavel points out.

“Still, it’s pretty cold.” Hank blows out a ring of breath and watches it vaporize. “Let’s go in.”

Pavel stoops down to pick up the puck and presses it into Hank’s hands. “You always rain on my Cornflakes?” Pavel smiles, pleased with himself, and Hank can’t help but laugh.

“You don’t mean rain,” Hank says, grinning. “You mean piss.”

“Oh. Homer steer me off the beaten path then.” Pavel closes his cool hands around Hank’s. Hank can feel the cold through his woolen mittens, and squeezes back.

“You don’t – oh, nevermind. I think it’s funny.”

“What’s funny?” Pavel asks.

“Maybe you should stop getting English lessons from Homer.” Hank chuckles, tugging Pavel toward the snowbanks, where a little path has been cleared out.

“Maybe I will have to get lesson from you,” Pavel says, nodding.

“What can _I_ teach you? You already know everything about everything.” Hank steps off the ice and waits for Pavel, tucking his hands under his arms to keep warm.

“Not everything. There’s a lot I don’t know.” Pavel smiles at Hank. “You teach me.”

“What do you wanna know?” Hank asks.

Pavel looks up at the sky, and Hank follows his gaze. Flecks of snow spiral down like salt from a shaker. “I want know where the snow comes from.” 

“It comes from clouds. I think. I don’t know,” Hank says. “Water in the clouds freezes. And then the clouds let it go.”

“When I was kid in Russia, my mother says the snow is ice shavings. From big hockey rink in the sky, where all the great hockey players go when they die.” Pavel looks over at Hank. “I think I like Mama’s story better.”

“I think I do too.” Hank says.

“Hank?” 

“Pavel?” 

“Let’s go in. Cold,” Pavel says, throwing his arms around Hank in a big bear hug. “Cold even for me.”

Hank laughs, reaching up to rub a mittened hand through Pavel’s damp brown hair. Snowflakes cling to his eyelashes and Hank stills his hand.

“It’s not so bad. You’re warm.” Hank returns the hug.

“So are you.” Pavel smiles again. “Last one in is the rotten – the rotten egg? Is that right?”

Hank breaks into a wide grin he can’t feel. “That’s right.”

Pavel breaks away, laughing, and darts for the house, Hank not far behind.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


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